hold my hand as we burn
by Parapluie Lire
Summary: Ron was fine not knowing a thing about the world to sit on his bum all day like the donkey in their stable. Sadly, Hermione was a revolution starter. Muggle/1790!AU


**Quidditch, Chaser 2: write about a democracy. (Word) Blushing, (word) Decision, (Word) Bold; Camp Potter: Archery-write about a father and his sons. **

**Camp Potter ii-Archery: 2k or more, write about a father and his children, frogs**

**Zoo-Crane: Independence. Write about Hermione.**

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**{** she held my hand as I did hers **}**

**{** and she exited the infinite spin of life **}**

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_Year of our lord 1790,_

"Democracy Ron, what an idiotic idea." Hermione Weasley declared.

She was rather outspoken for a woman. She came with a low dowry, not much land or money to her name but mounds of brain to spare. Such attributes didn't make the bushy haired lady an appealing potential wife. Blushing to his toes, Ron loved her anyway but sometimes she was unbearable.

People nagged on him because he couldn't control his pushy wife, they encouraged him to beat her. He did too, but not often, just every so often that she knew her place. Her ability to speak out was an attribute and a curse.

Her mouth was forever open but Ron Weasley would have loved no one else. But good lord, the woman could babble.

All that Hermione knew came from rumors. They lived in a empty village in Cardiff. Population of a couple hundred and the gossip for a thousand. Her brother, not very wealthy himself, traveled through a couple days ago with the outrageous news of the Yanks new system and Hermione just wouldn't shut up.

The dishes weren't done and she kept going on about how the whole plan that the Yanks had cracked up would come crashing down in failure.

"It worked for the Greeks," she confirmed. "But those archaic Yanks couldn't even manage to build a simple box."

The new decision didn't effect Ron's current (and small) sphere or life. It didn't impact the berry gathering nor the steady stream of food that was set on his table.

Ron was fine not knowing a thing about the world to sit on his bum all day like the lazy ass in their stable. Sadly, Hermione was a revolution starter.

**...**

_Year of our lord 1791, May 29,_

"Not even a democracy, it's a republic. They call it a-" Hermione listened in as a hooded man ranted from the bar. He seemed to be talking to the world. Not to her specifically or to the weary bartender, he just spoke. Loudly.

However, Hermione was nosy, she was intrigued by his knowledge and further compelled by his Ability to clearly state his opinion. She liked that.

He was there everyday all the time, talking to his imaginary friends.

What was Hermione Granger, respectable, if a tad pushy, doing in the Hod's Head Tavern? It was far from a 'lady like' place to be but not completely corrupt. Sure there was always the emergency knifes stashed in a corner and under the bar table incase of some hooligans, but over all it was quite, unvarying and complex.

Hermione liked complexity, a puzzle was always good. Busywork that she was given by the people of the town, was not.

Who cared if she knew math, there would be no practical application with math. Hermione's neighbors didn't believe she knew how to read or do some thing so outrageous as subtraction, but she did.

People humored her, they gave her small problems. They were trivial, and as Hermione would not dare say, stupid. When she was right they would gauff and roll their eves. _Lucky geuss,_ they'd say. Though even they must have know that there could only be so many lucky guesses.

When she was wrong, they would all come crashing down upon her. Alicia, Hermione's crocheting companion would ridicule her while the town scoffed and restated their opposing stances.

Woman can't learn.

Woman can't be popes.

Woman _can_ stay at home and clean.

At the tavern people regarded her with not respect but a sense that they weren't much better off. None of hermione's peers were _ever_ to be caught dead at the Tavern. No, no, that just wouldn't be _right_.

Lately people just seemed to gravitate, fixate ing on the idea that the 'New World' was so fantastic.

Hermione was determined to prove them wrong.

**...**

_Year of our lord 1791, June 7_

She spoke to him for the first time on a hot, foggy day. It was disgusting to be out in which circumstances but the whole town was rushing about.

All of them, puppets on a string, preparing for the good Saint Olson's brother, who too was a Preacher, to arrive on the sleepy town's doorstep.

They were so _honored_ that he, renown in the area, would visit them.

Why she did it, after eavesdropping, but never speaking to him, now was still a mystery.

Though she did. Tapping him on the solder as she slid over her seat to be closer. There was a fear that this new man would be hideous. A fear which quickly disappeared. Strong jaw, slender fingers, finer than anyone's in the villages' jerked up in surprise. He held a stone, black as night and lovely as the morning sun, which he stowed in his trouser pocket.

"May I help you?" He had blonde hair, fair skin and a look about him that screamed trouble.

_Though intellect couldn't be dangerous_, Hermione reasoned, and she plowed on. "Yes, yes you may, explain to me your Yankee Theory."

The man almost fell out of his chair. "Excuse me?!" His voice sounded strangled and several octaves too high.

Hermione hated to repeat herself, even though she constantly had to. "I would like for you to tell me more and recap you're Democracy theory.

"Oh," The man pushed up his pince-nez, blinking owlishly. "Truly?"

Hermione couldn't help it, she smiled. "Truly."

Holding out her hand, she treated him as an equal. "Hermione Weasley."

"Rolf Scamander."

**...**

_Year of our lord 1792, December 14,_

Ron came home covered in blood. His side was bandaged tightly which Hermione gasped at. "How in Heavens above did this happen!"

All thoughts of visiting the Tavern and Rolf disappeared. Vision tunneling,Hermione re bandaged the ones the Healer, Lavender Brown, had applied.

She stayed by his side throughout the night. Watching over him and wondering why it couldn't be like this more.

Her eyes closed while she sat upright, their fingers intertwined because despite everything, despite the Tavern, despite the political and educational musings, she loved him.

**...**

_Year of our lord 1792, December 15, eight hours since_

Hermione arrived at the Tavern early in the morning. Ron wouldn't wake up and stupid Lavender rushed her out of her own house to care for Ron.

For the first time, Hermione arrived at the Tavern to do one thing she swore off of. Hermione, when at the pub only drank diluted alcohol sparingly. She could hold her liquor but now was different. Now, Hermione had to get that goo-y, patronizing voice of Lavender's out of her head.

Hermione was more than adequate to care for Ron, triple so than Lavender. What did lavender know, the worst she had treated in her short healer-ship was how to apply a bandage to a patient and prescribe poppy.

So Hermione, no where else to go, went to the Tavern because honestly, there was no where else for her to go.

Her house was sanctioned off by the almighty Lavender(who somehow, unlike her, demanded attention and wasn't laughter at, no Lavender Brown was _respected_ for knowing absolutely nothing.)and where else would she be so openly accepted?

Certainly not the crochet club, she had yelled at them all last week and good lord, did it take them a while to wrap their minds around greater possibilities.

Then again, Hermione Weasley was a revelution starter. She would never _just_ be the healer, nor _just_ the revolutionary. Hermione would be remembered as bold and selfless, funny and wise but most of all, she would be different.

And for her crusade for _different_, Hermione Granger-Weasley, as she would later take to calling herself, would take to variety.

All that, however, wasn't on her mind. Not her life goals or her wishes when she downed the burning liquid and pounded a chunk of her savings on the counter for more.

It was out of the corner of her eye that she saw him walk in. He was tall and fair haired like he always was but when he saw her, his adorable eyes widened. He was still holding the beautiful stone.

The stone on which Hermione had always wondered why he didn't sell but didn't have the gall to ask about, slipped away into his robes.

She didn't care much for it now as she lugged herself off her stool and swaggered toward him. Her ankles gave in at bad moments and she needed the tables and surrounding upholstery to keep herself standing. Somewhat.

Her honor and dignity were neglected and knocked off to the side when she todo the first sip and did something that was _not_ empowering, not gracious and not _right_.

Ron didn't deserve it.

Rolf didn't deserve it.

Hermione knew she risked their friendship and would frown upon this moment years to come.

There was an all too noticeable lack of Grace when she flung herself at Rolf. Literally propelling herself up then tossing her arms around him and kissing, hard.

She missed his mouth but then again, she wasn't really aiming. She caught his hair from when he tried to turn away and let her save face. at to which she then ruined his valiant attempts.

Gripping his beautiful jaw and then she sealed the deal. She pushed up against him and took in his kissable lips that weren't meant for her.

Onlookers laughed and cheered her on and Rolf was red in the face, telling her to stop. He looked so much like Ron when he did that and she knew she couldn't.

If she closed her eyes she might even trick herself that Rolf was Ron. Hair light in the harsh sun, beautiful in every way. Perhaps not slender and as literate as Rolf but thoughtful, kind and humorous.

He would look over to her from plowing and smile his smile while jealous Lavender looked on from afar while he encircled Hermione in his strong arms.

Those were the days but now the roles were reversed.

She was the outsider, Lavender was closer than she, and she didn't like it.

Nothing could ever explain to the people watching how the prude bushy haired woman was stupid. They all disliked her sure but forcing a man to the ground like a pup then for ing herself upon him. It was too much to bare. They should have stopped her from assaulting the handsome young man but they didn't. This was the most interesting to happen all week.

_That was the price of beauty_, a man, scared and drunk, thought.

When he looked at the two scrambling on the floor he was a desperate woman and a man, _too_ good looking for his own health, caught in the fray. It was hilarious to watch.

Hermione ne didn't know the onlooker's thoughts, she only knew her own. She wanted Ron back and Rolf _was_ Ron_ in a sense_.

She shuffled around, loosening her bodice and shoving her chest in his face.

She _was_ unbelievably drunk.

And she would undeniably regret it.

Straddling him, she had just under gown a change, from wife to slag. She was not just looking for information, she was looking for something too far out of her reach.

The floor was dirty, grimy and her hands were stained white with dust and dirt.

Filthy and gross, why was she even there?

When she finally came to, the shame wouldn't fade away. It stayed and strengthened when Ron denied her actions to any who would accuse. Despite having no evidence. Ron, pure lovely Ron, would defend her to the end.

**...**

_Year of our lord 1793, January 4,_

Rolf was getting married. How did Hermione feel about that? T'was the question before she settled on indifference.

And eventually jealousy.

Rolf stopped comming to the Tavern. He had started comming less and less but she still enjoyed their shorter, yes, but still intellectual conversations.

It had all started, she admitted, a couple months ago which she still regretted.

They had made their peace but that didn't mean it wasn't awkward.

She had lost a lifelong friend, but she didn't know how true the statement, verbalized or not, would be. Not until _the day._

**...**

_Year of our lord 1797, May 28,_

It had been noted that Hermione's village was desolate. Almost completely cut off from the outside world but news still reached them. More specifically, news about witches and how to fight them.

Hermione didn't know what to make of the information. According to Rolf the trials were no longer law but the Towns people didn't think so.

Luna Scamander, drifty and odd was to be put to death. Hermione didn't see much of Rolf before the execution, but when she did she wished she hadn't.

It was in a large clearing, far in the middle of a field that the men worked to pile up wood. Ron was still injured and despite the healers instruction, he was not getting better.

Dressed all in white Luna looked lovely if not for the tears and cries of protest. She pleaded innocence and Lorcan and Lysander, her two sons watched, held back by their father. Their heads were turned away but they could still hear.

Rold looked pained as he nelt by his sons, biding them adeu before handing them over to Luna's crying, aged father, and stepping out.

He walked a couple steps before stopping and returning to the huddled family and he passed over the glorified rock. A look of pain seemed to flash across Rolf's face but he straightened out and walked to the middle of the clearing.

He and the persecutors argued until the growing red on the executioners face was too much.

Taking the torch in one hand like a bludgeon he whacked Rolf into unconsciousness. That it either, as Luna screamed for her husband who was getting repeatedly kicked mercilessly the fire was set.

Hermione watched from Ron's arms as her only friend went up in smoke. Bodies burning as Luna's scream died out.

The Revelation would have to wait.

**...**

Year of our lord 1804, Summer, undated,

Lorcan Scamander sat in a shady field, the very same his parents were executed on. Now, flowers bloomed and a pond took up a good portion of it.

"Accio frog." Clutching a black stone and a makeshift wand, Lorcan beamed As a green reptile zoomed over to him and landed in the growing pile of his slimy comrades.

Looking up, he saw his parents. Just wisps of their former selves that Lorcan remembered from his childhood.

Though, as they smiled and nodded he almost believed they were real. Lysander stood with their parents as well, riding on their father's shoulders. He too, looked down, smiling.

"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

Lorcan smiled then as well.

...

So much can happen over a span of a lifetime. Hermione Weasley uprooted her family and they moved to Iceland, a place that had a strong, yet still developing, magical core. A perfect place to Hermione to spread her influence. Not that they knew of course of magic. To Hermione's rational mind no such thing existed.

Rolf Scamander never knew he was dead until his soul was drawn back, hand clasped in his wife's To their sons. Lysander went a bit awry, trying too hard to meet up with his parents. He had millions of theory's of death and there was no one but Lorcan to set him straight.

Though Lorcan was busy with his own problems, not noticing that his brother had gone off the deep end until Lysander induced his own concussion. Willingly to test a hypothesis.

It _was_ a good one. Rolf couldn't deny his son that fact but however insightful the experiment, it left Lorcan alone with a lonely stone for company.

Though the stone did admittedly bring back the only three people he cared about.

Lorcan would then move on. He, after all couldn't dwell on the deaths of those around him. It happened too often for Lorcan to allow it to upset him. So instead, Lorcan crafted a box. Gilded in silver and made of good sturdy wood it was perfect.

Lorcan would try to submit it to a 'Science' firm but it would get stolen in the dead of night. No use to him anymore but he did miss the late night talks with his dad, brothers jokes and Mother's soothing voice.

The stone would disappear for another century and Lorcan would abandon his magic without anyone to encourage him.

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**{** it was as simple as that. **}**

**{ **and then they simply faded, forgotten in time **}**

**{** just another wielding of the stone **}**

**{ **and all those who watched on **}**

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A/N: If anyone could tell, the stone is the resurrection stone.


End file.
